Oort Clouds and Oreos
by A Little Dandy Lion
Summary: In the terribly sleepy town of Forks, murder is afoot. They are violent and bloody and Edward Cullen, the village creep, is so very interested. He wonders who the killer is, because for all he knows, he's the only one there.AH-AU-OOC rated M for messiness
1. Prologue

When I do good, I feel good; when I do bad, I feel bad, and that is my religion.  
- Abraham Lincoln

* * *

PROLOGUE

Night had fallen heavily on the little town of Forks, and with the darkness came something murderous.

The still-wet ground gave way to heavy black boots that strode towards an almost-empty house on the hill. The building was old and had been built in a time when the town was young, barely a town at all. When neighbours lived many miles away and travel took some hours for a visit, or for help. And nothing had changed.

It was Perfect.

The only occupant was watching yet another inane show on the television set. It was loud, with a woman screeching at the top of her voice, but not loud enough to mask the sharp sound of scratching that came from the back door. An investigation was warranted.

A sigh was followed by complaining springs of an old, threadbare couch and the shuffling of feet towards the door in question. Turning the handle, opening the door, looking into the darkness. Outside, a slight breeze made the indistinct silhouettes of trees murmur and the shadows stir. Nothing to see. But Something was felt. A shiver, not from the cold. Bed, and its inherent comfort, suddenly seemed welcome.

Shutting the wooden door with more force than necessary, the shuffling of feet turned into a hasty dash. The television was switched off and a muffled _thud, thud_ across thin carpet marked the hurried ascent of the stairs to the bedroom. The door was opened with a sweaty hand and shut with a satisfying _click!_

A forehead leaned against the cold door in relief. Safe now from whatever it was that caused icy cold water to trickle down the spine. The door would shut anything bad out.

Turned, suddenly came face to face with the bad that was shut _in._ It didn't even look Bad. If passed in the street, it could have been mistaken for Not Threatening, or even Nice. But the eyes, somehow gleaming in the un-lit room, made it bad. Very Bad.

::+::+::+::+::

Screams went unheard in the lonely house on the hill that night and the tasteful beige walls were splattered with the Red from overly vigorous arterial slashing. The sudden and violent change from life to death caused the carpet to be stained as well. It squelched under the weight of the heavy black boots, causing blood to collect in shoe-shaped pools for a little while before disappearing, like seawater in the wet sand of a beach.

The ritual was like many that had come to pass before it; all were the same, and yet, all were unique. No two felt alike. That was what kept the Killer killing: having a new experience with an old custom. It was exhilarating and safe at the same time. And the Killer lived for routines and rituals.

An inspection was made. Assessment concluded that it was a good job. The Urge, the monster inside the Monster, was quelled for the time being. And until the Urge rose again, stifling the Bad Thing into submission, the Bad Thing would be the Good Person Who Was Just Like Anyone Else.

After all, only the best predators act like their prey, and this one in particular was the best (or worst) of them all.

* * *

**A/N:** There you go, folks. That's your first taste of my first fic. I hope I didn't scare you too much and that it wasn't too weird. I have been known to be both things on many occasions.


	2. Chapter 1

I'm seventeen and I'm crazy. My uncle says the two always go together. When people ask your age, he said, always say seventeen and insane.  
- Ray Bradbury

* * *

CHAPTER 1: She's Insane

[HER]

It was cold outside, in this washed-out grey morning, and I was unsure of myself. Both were new to me.

I was used to burnt colours, to Arizonian heat. I was used to my skin turning a blistering pink every time I stepped outside, despite coating my skin heavily in sunscreen like there was no tomorrow. I was used to being used to things.

I was a creature of habit. The change from Phoenix to Forks was difficult for me.

Here, in this small town, the days were frosty and short, the people stereotypically nosy. I had learned this the previous night in the town's only supermarket, as an overly-friendly member of staff helped me find the cookie section, as well as pointing out the glaringly obvious rows of Oreos. And in response to my muttered thanks, he had said, "No problem, Isabella". I could only stare at him in shock as he walked away. Back in Phoenix, the girl who sat next to me all through my years of English had said, "I hope you have a good flight, Betty," when I told her that I was leaving.

I had to admit, though, that the mysterious boy, as well as the rest of Forks, had expected my arrival as soon as my dear father Charlie Swan happily confided in a fellow diner at the only restaurant in Forks. This woman was also, coincidentally, the Forks High receptionist, and being a receptionist in a quiet town, told every teacher in the school. Who told their students. Who told their parents. Who told their childless friends. When Charlie had called, three days after I warned him of my unexpected move, to tell me what he had created, I didn't quite understand why he was so sheepish. He had sounded as if he was going to spontaneously break out into a fit of bleating.

But I had learned quickly after the Great Oreo-Buying Incident.

This, however, did not ease my sense of paranoia as I made my way up to the school's reception. I thought I could feel everyone's eyes on me, the New Girl. _Stop it, Bella. They're not looking at you._ Yeah right.

I plastered a smile on my face as I approached the creator of my own personal Hell. "Hello. I'm–"

"Isabella Swan. Nice to meet you, dear." I could sense my cold feelings toward this woman melt away. I couldn't begrudge her for interrupting me with a name I hated as well as spreading news of my arrival. She seemed so soft and warm and the kind of older lady to consider crocheting kettle warmers and doing crosswords as a thrilling way to spend an evening. She called me 'dear', for goodness' sake.

"Nice to meet you, too."

She swivelled in her chair to retrieve some papers from a nearby cupboard. "There you go. This is a map of the campus, your timetable and important dates in the school's calendar. As you can see," she continued, shuffling the order of the sheets, then pointing at a page, "we've begun the term a little earlier this year, so you've missed three weeks already. But I'm sure you'll catch up, if you're anything like the Chief. Or Renée, for that matter." Her tone was disapproving when she mentioned my mother's name. And after all this time … No wonder my mother left: the close proximity of a small amount of people fosters judgement. And Renée hated to be judged.

"Well, I'm sure you're right. Thanks for your concern." I gave her a warm smile, winning her over. I walked outside, facing the crowd once more.

One down, the rest of Forks to go.

::+::+::+::+::

I looked down at my plate, frowning in concentration.

"Hey, Bella!" An excited voice tore me away from my inspection. It was my newly acquired friend, Mike. He had latched onto me ever since I was forced to sit next to him and a girl named Jessica in my first period of the day: English. He seemed happy at my arrival; she, on the other hand, not so much. Actually, that was an understatement. Hatred seemed to be her defining expression. And I was still surprised by Mike's attention since I had made no effort in forming a connection, except for a polite smile.

Mike sat down next to me in the cafeteria, tray in hand. "I see that you've managed to scavenged some food by yourself. What did you get?"

I poked my food with a plastic fork, managing to spear something, and popped it into my mouth. I winced at the chewy texture. "I'm not really sure. It's sort of… meaty, I guess."

His blue eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled. "Yeah, you get used to mystery food after a while. You know that you're safe after a week or so." He nudged a boy to his left. "Or, in Eric's case, nine days." The boy, Eric, flushed red.

"Safe from what?" I was still struggling to finish my mouthful. It was like I was eating leather.

"Food poisoning." I had finally given up on the institution of mastication and started to swallow when he said those two fateful words. Choking and panicked looks ensued.

"Oh my God, Isabella. Are you okay?" Jessica pretended to be worried as she came right into Mike's line of view. Never one to miss an opportunity, that girl. I couldn't even protest at her blatant act of exploitation or correct her use of my name; I just made a wheezing sound instead.

Another girl pulled Jessica out of the way and proceeded to whack me soundly on the back. Her attempts managed to dislodge the inedible food… right onto Mike's face. He didn't seem pleased. Jessica quickly wiped his face and earned his look of gratitude.

Worried that my sensitive eyes would be exposed to gratuitous sucking-of-face, I turned to my saviour. "Thank you so much. I don't even know your name."

The girl smiled as she replied. "It's Angela Webber. You're Isabella Swan, right? The town's been buzzing about your arrival for quite some time now. You've certainly made an impression so far."

I winced. I hate creating a scene, which was happening with alarming regularity. "I prefer Bella, actually." I didn't like this attention: it was making me nervous. Time to change the topic. "Well, Angela Webber, how can I ever repay you? I could buy you another meal, since I've obviously spoiled this one."

And then her smile turned into a half-frown. "Um, I don't know what to say." She must be modest enough to turn down free food. That was new.

"You can say yes." I always repaid my debts, even if I didn't like going out. She just seemed so pleasant and sincere. It was hard not to like her.

Angela seemed uncertain as to what she would say. After a few more seconds silence, she suddenly blurted out with: "You're not trying to pick me up, are you? I mean, I'm flattered but I don't really go that way, if…um, you know what I mean."

I think that I looked faintly horrified. "No, no that was not what I was trying to say. I just think that, well, that you're probably the only genuinely nice person that I've met so far. Um, yeah." I looked down and scratched the back of my neck. This is why I don't make friends. The whole process is so incredibly awkward. Or maybe that's just me.

She seemed embarrassed at my praise. She mumbled, "Oh, okay then. That'll be great. And we can go shopping too while we're at it."

"Where are you going?" It was Jessica; I was surprised by her voice because I'd forgotten that she was right next to me. She seemed a little smug. Mike had gone to clean up his face, leaving her in a slightly nicer mood than before.

Angela answered, her voice stronger than before. "Shopping and dinner. I'm thinking maybe Port Angeles. It has a bigger range of choices." She turned to me. "What do you think, Bella?"

"I don't know this area very well. I'll trust you."

Jessica glanced at the both of us for a bit, and then her smugness reached new heights. Why would she be so happy about our little trip? She interrupted any further thoughts when she said, "Oh, can I come, too? I want to get a nice dress for the girls' choice dance. I've just asked Mike and," she added in hushed and excited whisper, "he said yes!" And then she stared at me expectantly, as if she was waiting for something.

I decided to congratulate her. I didn't know when I would be on her good side again, so I decided to take advantage of it. Hopefully, she'll be persuaded that I was, in fact, a nice person. "Wow, that's great, Jess. I'm really happy for you." I didn't really care either way, but it seemed that I'm a better actor than I thought: Jess smiled even wider.

And Angela made a weird sound. I think it was a snort. We both turned to look at her. "Did I just snort?" she asked. She looked puzzled. "I don't think I've ever done that before."

Jess laughed at her expression and both Angela and I joined in. I didn't think that it was that funny, but I went through the motions anyway.

It would have been strange not to.

::+::+::+::

Boredom, thy name is school.

The hand on the clock moved in its precise, _slow_ path towards my freedom. I watched intently in my seat at the back of the class. 54 minutes or 3240 _ticks_ left.

It was easier, back in Phoenix. I was in a special program where you didn't have to turn up to classes as long as you passed your exams with flying colours. Actually, it was only me who didn't have to go to school. It was a stipulation that my dear mother Renée put into place because of my condition.

For you see, Bella Swan is a certified sociopath.

I have, according to my old psychiatrist, a mental condition known as Conduct Disorder. It's a nice way of telling parents that their kid will be psychotic, since Conduct Disorder is a sign that you'll have Antisocial Personality Disorder when you're older. And APD is primarily defined as a lack of empathy. I'm emotionally deaf; that is, I can't instinctively understand the subtle facial expressions and tones in speech that make humans so complex. I had to learn to read people. I also can't have emotional connections because of my inability to understand and sympathise.

My mother used to ask me whether I felt that I was missing something. I wasn't offended by it because I knew that she lived for connections, for being caught up in the moment. After all, I was a result of one of her many escapades. She couldn't understand how I could survive not knowing the feeling of loving, and being loved, in return. She once made a mistake, during the first few days after I had been diagnosed, to ask if I, you know, felt anything? She knew after that incident to never ask that question again. It was around this time when I stopped going to school. No wonder I was thought of as 'Betty' back in Phoenix.

3154 _ticks_ left. Daydreaming is never what it used to be.

Fortunately, the person sitting next me hadn't made an attempt at conversation yet, and for that I was grateful.

And then the teacher of this Biology lesson, I think he was called Mr. Batter or Bammer, asked everyone to get into pairs for the practical we were about to do.

Were you expected to talk to your partner? I was diagnosed with Conduct Disorder for a reason.

"So, it's Isabella Swan, right?" A smooth voice interrupted my oasis of calm.

I turned to my tormentor for the next 48 minutes. And stared. He was so…perfect. And no, I don't mean perfect, as in _perfect_, where you sigh and flutter your eyelashes like in the movies. I never sigh. No, I mean perfect, as in terribly symmetrical. The sight of him unnerved me. Who actually looked like that? Hair, cheekbones, a smirking mouth and eyes that were full of mirth, looking right at me…while at sat there, mute, having a long inner monologue. Shocked with myself, I blurted out, "I prefer Bella, actually." Then promptly ignored him. I felt unsettled, and more than a little annoyed at myself.

50 minutes later, the bell shrilly rang out across the campus, announcing our release. The boy next to me seemed to unfurl from his seat to his full height, towering over me, and left.

I realised, then, that we had not spoken a single word after my blunt, rude but self-preserving dismissal. We had somehow completed the worksheet on mitosis without a sound.

Huh, it _was_ possible to not talk in a group activity. I am, if nothing else, an over-achiever.

::+::+::+::

"So, Bells. How was your first day at school? Make any friends?"

I knew that Charlie asked me out of habit. Those same questions were repeated year after year when I visited him during my summer breaks. _It was okay _and _no, I didn't_ always made their appearances. I could feel them crawling out of my mouth in reflex, but I swallowed them down. For once, it was different this time. _I_ was different. He was going to be shocked. "Today was great. I met some nice people." The boy from Biology floated into my mind. I punctuated that grand statement with a strong _thwack _of the blade in my hand. My victim separated in half after a split second delay and rocked slightly in the aftermath of my attack.

Charlie and I were currently standing in the kitchen: me, expertly wielding a knife on hapless vegetables to his astonishment and him, fidgeting. He didn't know if he had to keep me company in the kitchen, mainly to make sure that his accident-prone daughter didn't lop off an arm but also to see how many plant-like things I could cram into a stew. I was up to six. But I could tell that he wanted to watch the football match that I knew was on tv right at this moment. I hadn't told him that I would prefer it if he left me alone: my kitchen was my retreat. I could be myself. But call me spiteful, I wanted to make him suffer for a bit. School was really boring and I couldn't believe that he'd forced me to go. He didn't know about my condition, patient confidentiality being what it is. But who in their right mind ignores a psychiatrist's order?

He stopped fidgeting. "Really?" He seemed unconvinced. Poor Charlie, he thought I was joking. Was I that bad? Yes, yes I was.

"Really really." He smiled in response to my favourite childhood movie quote. "You know this town better than most, you know, being the legal enforcer. Do either Jessica Stanley or Angela Webber have a criminal record?" I didn't mention the boy. I didn't want Charlie to ask more questions about me than absolutely necessary. I chopped the carrot into smaller pieces and then moved onto a gigantic mushroom.

He chuckled. "I don't think I'm supposed to tell you that, kiddo. Confidentiality and all that stuff."

"So won't tell me whether I'm going to spend an evening with a serial killer just because of confidentiality?"

"Wow, going out already? Good for you." I could almost hear the rest of his sentence: _You've finally broken out of your shell._ No, Charlie, I haven't. I've just learnt to pretend very well.

I finished the mushroom and turned towards some lean cuts of beef. "You're not going to tell me, are you?" Blood oozed out of the flesh as I cut it.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine then, have it your way. They don't have anything against them. But I'd watch out for that Stanley girl. She's going to be just like her mother, I can tell. And her mother is Head Gossiper of this town. Take care of what you say in front of her."

"Head Gossiper? In _this _town? Wow, that must be really bad then, huh?"

Charlie winced at that dig. "I said that I was sorry." And then he frowned, looking thoughtful.

"What's wrong?"

"It's, well…I don't want to scare you, but something really bad happened today."

I frowned. Unsure of what he's saying, sombre mood, use of negative adjectives…Charlie was scared. "What was it?"

"I received a report of a murder that happened in that old house on the hill. You know the one?" I nodded. "I don't want to scare you, Bells, but the woman who was killed was home alone, and I was just thinking of how I was going to return to my normal shifts tomorrow, and I would finish quite late. I only stopped early tonight so you could settle in. But now, when I think about it…maybe I should call in and say that I'll keep on finishing early."

"No, Charlie, don't!" He seemed shocked at my loud response. I took a calming breath. "It's just, they need you over at the station. I don't want you wasting time with me when you can find that horrible person."

I swallowed a lump in my throat. I didn't want him to be here. I needed my space, even with a father who was nearly as antisocial as me. "Remember those self-defence classes I took when I was younger?" Another fad of Renée's. "Well, I've continued them. You don't have to worry about me, okay?" He seemed unconvinced. "Look, I've got over ten years of training under my belt, as well as a whopping big cleaver. _And_ I know how to lock a door. No offence." I faintly remembered Charlie hating 'small-town' jokes, especially those of the incestuous-family variety.

"I'm just worried about you, kiddo." He seemed happy and sad at the same time.

"I know, Dad. I know." I looked down at my knife.

Cue awkward Swan moment. I had a feeling that they would be a weekly re-occurrence at the rate at which we were bonding. Jeez, bonding. What sociopath 'bonds'?

I needed to get some perspective. I needed to be alone. "Now," I announced, waving my large weapon vaguely in his direction, "shoo, father of mine. The kitchen is the woman's domain. No men folk allowed."

"Aren't guys supposed to say that, Bells? What's wrong with you?" He smiled as he left to enjoy his game.

I didn't laugh, as usual. I just thought as I hacked raw meat into pieces.

_What's wrong with you?_

I honestly don't know, Dad.

**A/N:** So, what did ya think? Any questions about this story probably won't be answered by yours truly because I don't want to destroy my plan of how you find out things (I'm a dramatic sap at heart) and mainly because I'm too lazy and forgetful to check my messages and reviews. Many apologies.


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